


My darkest Confession by Alexandre Du Pré

by TraditionalGaily



Category: The Last Door
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Self-Doubt, St Gall Boarding School, The Lost Pilgrim, Videte ne quis sciat, Voyeurism, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TraditionalGaily/pseuds/TraditionalGaily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While still being a student at the St Gall boarding Alexandre discovers most disquieting cravings -and, worst of all, he appears to be awfully attracted to a certain colleague...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone.  
> So, this is my first attempt at writing a Last Door fanfiction.  
> It's going to be a bit smutty...so please don't hate me.

Stupid boy.  
Catching a glimpse of Father William’s stern expression out of the corner of my eyes, my gaze sought refuge in the frugal sight of the courtyard veiled in fog.  
I heard feet shuffling, which indicated that my fellow colleagues had not failed to notice the mood which currently occupied our teachers mind.  
Concentrating more than necessary on the dull late-September landscape, I heard Father William’s heavy footsteps followed by more timid ones.  
One could not suppress a snigger mocking the poor boy who had fallen victim to a “conversation in private”.  
And we all knew what that meant.

Stupid boy.  


Depriving myself from the gaze of my colleagues I walked quickly, but without haste to the room of the (due to a family matter) recently absent father Ernest.  
Lifting the doorknob a little bit before pushing usually sufficed opening the locked door.  
While removing a tasteless tableau depicting some unhealthy pink shepherd accompanied by rather dull than protected looking sheep, I could already hear muffled shreds of the heated monologue protruding through the hole.  
Poor, stupid boy.

 

The “conversation” contained of Father William lecturing and questioning his kneeling, presumed guilty, suspect, who held his shaking hands stretched out obediently and murmured frightened words of agreement.  
I felt my own heartbeat increasing witnessing Father William opening the top drawer in which I knew, to my own misfortune, he kept a rather heavy old leather belt.  
I saw terror creeping over my poor colleague’s face as Father William approached him theatrically slowly as his free hand pointed at the direction of the tomes accusingly piled up on his writing desk.  
I saw tears forming in my colleague’s eyes as he lost control over his voice and nodded, trembling under the unholy accusations.  
And I winced and closed my eyes as the belt was brought down hard upon the culprit’s hands.  
Poor, stupid Jeremiah.

CRACK

 

Tears running down his cheeks I heard him confessing and apologising for his outrageous behaviour.  
CRACK  
  
I heard him asking the Lord for forgiveness, admitting his sinning by reading words brought to the earth by the devil.  
And then he started to defend his actions.  
CRACK  
CRACK  
CRACK

 

Oh, poor naïve Jeremiah.  
His ravenous appetite for wisdom could only be satisfied by words long forgotten, scripts protruding from Greek philosophy.

Soon the library books would no longer suffice and he craved for older books, ungodly books…  
Some nights I had heard him in his bunk bed underneath mine, secretly trying to decipher these unholy writings by pale sunlight at dawn.  
CRACK  


I heard his sobs, Jeremiah no longer able to supress the burning pain in his fingers.  
He begged for forgiveness, but his attempts to defend his actions were met with Father William’s raging screams and unnecessarily harsh punishment.

CRACK  
CRACK  
CRACK

 

As the sobs had died away and the shouting ceased, oppressive silence reigned the lodging next door.  
Uneasy silence.  
I dared one look through the hole.

 

Father William had pulled up his chair while Jeremiah…  
I gasped.  
Never before had I noticed the innumerable amount of freckles adorning not only his shoulders but travelling down his well-built hips and legs as well.  
I…I couldn’t…  
Once I had caught a glimpse of Jeremiah’s naked body I felt no longer able to draw away from his alien beauty.  
I felt my heartbeat increasing as I scanned his divine _extérieur_ , taking in his appealing shoulders his seductive hips alongside his tempting backside.  
Exposed to the stern expression of Father William his auburn locks hid most of his face as his gaze was affixed guiltily to the ground, his hands trying in a futile attempt to shield more private areas from his teacher’s view.  
Small beads of sweat formed on his shivering body as he approached his teacher with uncertain steps.  
As he raised his head I could see the pleading glance he shot at Father William while he blushed.  
A futile attempt, for seconds later he obediently positioned himself in front of his teacher, his elbows steadying his trembling body against the writing desk.

 

Father William mumbled a short presumed justification before raising his leather belt.  
And brought it hard down on Jeremiah’s backside.

I panted as I felt the flesh between my thighs awakening.  
Unable to withdraw my gaze travelled from Father William, whose years of alcohol abuse made it hard for him to control the force of his slaps, to my writhing colleague who bit down on his by now bleeding lower lip in order not to cry out in agony.  
Jeremiah was blushing, trying to escape his humiliation by closing his tear-filled eyes, and dug his nails into his elbows until they drew blood.  
But there was something else I witnessed…  
With my left hand travelling down towards my nether regions, to calm my rousing flesh, I was no longer in control over my commencing adolescent feelings and succumbed.  
I moaned, sank trembling to my knees and touched myself unashamedly, Jeremiah’s muffled screams sending pleasant shivers down my spine.  
He begged. The exact words I could not understand, but he begged him, cried out for mercy and was silenced by more violent slaps.  
I felt the forbidden flesh between my fingers pulsating, demanding release and I longed for it, how I craved it, this feeling that I’d never had before.  
I shut my eyes and let this new sensation pour over me, waves of pleasure came into being in my abdomen and spread through my heated limbs.  
Oh, Jeremiah, what sweet and cursed pleasure you had awoken in me.

 

As the arousal died away, I found myself panting heavily and covered in cold sweat, but still unable to stand up.  
I steadied myself against the wall, listening to what Father William probably thought of as “ _résumé_ ” and closed my eyes breathing in deeply until I felt strong enough to return to the dormitory without my legs disobeying me.  
And I evaded Jeremiah’s gaze guiltily.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the woods disappearing into the last february fogs, I never new how much comfort one could find in a hot cup of tea.   
> Despite the dismal greyishness outside, I enjoyed writing this chapter.   
> So let's continue where we left off...

That night I found no sleep at all.   
The following nights only a little.   
For I could neither forget nor comprehend the sinful deeds I had committed.

This overwhelming, _étrange_ sensation I had willingly succumbed to, erupting from my awakening adolescent desires… I could not grasp its origin.   
Confirmed, the manual stimulation my fingers had executed on their own accord had been nothing but a natural reaction, a mere reflex to the stimulus my mind had devoted itself to.

A devious, immoral and most of all sinful act as I suspected due to the teachers’ strict instructions concerning students sleeping with their hands under their blankets.   
Fortunately most of the educators avoided inspecting the dormitories of their older students during night time.

_Néanmoins…_

I was repeatedly deprived of Morpheus’ sweet embrace due to the suspicious noises, which protruded through my mattress, originating from Jeremiah’s bunk bed underneath mine.   
Had I been unfortunate enough to be still wide awake, while Jeremiah was breathing relaxingly in his sleep, I could feel my hand reaching for my pulsating flesh involuntarily. My appetite for this sweet sin increased continually for sometimes his breathing would transform itself into soft and reluctant groans.   
For nights I had tried to defeat Jeremiah’s unintentional seduction, tried to deafen myself in a futile attempt to save my already sullen soul.   
I tried drowning out Jeremiah’s unbridled moans and tempting voice by prayers of my dwindling faith.   
Succumbing to my own covetousness my praying ceased, for acoustically I was forced into witnessing my colleague shyly pleasuring himself.  
No longer had I felt able to hold back my secret cravings, my divine longings for impure satisfaction.   
Manually I tried to soothe the increasing pain I experienced between my thighs.  
Always yearning for more, secretly longing for Jeremiah’s touch, but still unable to confront my colleague with the venomous products of my diseased imagination.   
For I would have rather died than find my affection dismissed.   
_Cependant…_

Soon my mind had been infested by abhorrent phantasies and wishes.   
One certain incident kept replaying itself in my memory: Jeremiah being brutally punished and humiliated by Father William.   
Remembering it made my body shiver in anticipation.   
Soon I would spend every night recreating this particular scene in my mind over and over again, while pleasuring myself unabashedly.

I found myself entrapped in a circulus vitiosus.   
Satisfied by the delights of my forbidden play at night, but guiltily avoiding Jeremiah during the day.   
Promising myself night after night to terminate my impure actions, I found myself unable to do so.   
For I was never satisfied, constantly craving for more. Soon I felt that repeating the memory of my colleague’s harsh punishment would no longer suffice.

 

I came to an inconvenient conclusion.   
I needed to witness it again.   
Once more and I would be satisfied, I swore as I tricked myself into believing it.

 

Once I had made up my mind there was no turning back.   
And soon enough my intentions would bear fruit.

 

I cursed myself as I hurried to Father Ernest’s room.   
Placing the forbidden book barely hidden under Jeremiah’s bed had been easy.   
Making sure that Father William would find it during my leisure time had been harder.   
Nevertheless I had succeeded.   
  
Since his return Father Ernest had dedicated more time than usual to praying and fortunately he would visit a small chapel to do so, giving me the perfect opportunity to peek through my secret lookout.   


Impatient with anticipation I removed the picture already stimulated by the heated conversation protruding through the small crack.   
The exact same sequence replayed before my eyes: the accusation, the denial and the sentence.

Witnessing the violation of my colleague once again, perceiving his helpless cries during his humiliation, I was aware of my body moving on its own accord. With my hand reaching down for my pelvic area, the sinful part would wake again.   
As for Jeremiah….  
I observed, I enjoyed and again I lost myself to the arousing play I pursued safely from my hideout.   
Oh, poor Jeremiah.

 

Two more times I succeeded in tricking my colleague into such discomforting circumstances, while I could gain satisfaction from his misery.

I even had to forge Jeremiah’s handwriting and leave a, well honestly, poorly written essay concerning the development of man’s free will in ancient Greek philosophy on his desk.

Two more times I would enter my secret place eagerly and leave it satisfied but ashamed.

Still, I was not pleased at all by the turn events had taken due to my actions.   
My guilty conscience forced me to avoid Jeremiah’s company in general.   
And during the night time I was unable to deprive myself of the sobs Jeremiah tried to mute by crying into his cushion.   
I loathed myself for my actions and more than once wished that I’d never been conceived.

I was trapped, unable to free myself from my disquieting fixation.   
Nevertheless my mind was continuously drawn back to the _honteux_ play I had initiated, during which Jeremiah…  


Originally, I was certain, that my eyes had deceived me.   
What I believed to have witness could only be a distorted picture, induced by my _impudique_ cravings.   
It had to be. No other assumptions could be made without dishonouring Jeremiah.   
But by recreating the already mentioned _spectacle_ it occurred again.

During his violation, his humiliating punishment, I had seen it.   
For the unnecessary harsh punishment had not only aroused my curious body but Jeremiah’s as well…

 

I was confused. Irritated by my bodily reactions, terrified of my own curiosity.  
But most of all: I was unable to comprehend my feelings, my needs and my desires.   
It made me feel lonely and insecure.   
My unkind and bad behaviour towards my colleagues and teachers yielded into one beating, fortunately carried out by Father Ernest, and three essays about self-control.   
Unable to restrain my disoriented and bewildered sensations, I evaded my fellow students and spent most of the time at the nearby shore in solitude, preferably sitting on a ledge, only accessible by climbing. Until the inhospitable late November storms had forced me to stay indoors, I had written most of my assignments and essays with freezing fingers while the strong wind tugged at my papers. The constant rain alongside the fact, that I had already lost two quills during my late evening excursion to the shore prevented me from any kind of outdoor activity.   


Spending the vast majority of my leisure time inside the dormitory, I felt my self-discipline put to a test constantly.   
To my misfortune Jeremiah had fallen victim to a strange _maladie_ which resulted in my colleague having to stay in bed most of the time.   
My concentration and consequently my grades were affected by Jeremiah’s presence. My spirit, once craving for intellectual stimuli, longed now for physical ones. Books I would have eagerly devoured in the past, transformed into trite objects utilized to pass the time, while my mind was occupied by one thing.   
Jeremiah.   
Like I once philosophized on _par example_ the capability of the human mind and its limit, I found myself ruminating over the sensation induced by Jeremiah’s touch.  
Incapable of remaining in control over my secret and abysmal obsession I sought Father Ernest’s aid, but eventually did not find the courage to elucidate my distressing state of mind.   


Out of sheer desperation I started defaming my unrequited desire and developed a rather unhealthy rejection towards Jeremiah leading to my repeated mockery concerning his hurting hands, or in one case backside, whenever he’d been ill-fated enough to be punished by Father William again.  
And I could have won; I could have conquered my forbidden longings, if only...


	3. Chapter 3

Hopelessly lost in my own thoughts, I was sitting at the davenport giving at least the impression of a student occupying himself with algebra. Forcibly I had grown accustomed to Jeremiah’s uneasy breathing.   
Again I noticed my gaze resting on Jeremiah, who had been until now sleeping and woke up slowly.   
My eyes sought refuge in my incomplete assignment; in order to avoid his gloomy, disoriented stare.  
“Still feeling unwell, Devitt?” I asked observing him out of the corner of my eyes.  
Jeremiah was covered in cold sweat and was looking worryingly pale.   
As I caught a glimpse of his shivering body, I bit my lower lip involuntarily.   
“Shut up and leave me alone”, I heard him murmuring faintly as he disappeared further under his blanket.   
For a reason God only might know I stood up and sat down on Jeremiah’s bed. To his annoyance, I suspected, for my action was commented by a long and displeased sigh.  
Quite inexplicably it seemed later on, but in that particular moment it felt good to have his attention, even if it originated from, or at least I mused that it did, his resentment towards me.   
“The years had been rather unkind to Father William, don’t you think?” I heard myself babbling before I could tether up my unconcealed tongue.   
Jeremiah shot me a quick disrespecting glance but continued his denial concerning my mere existence.   
Agitated as I was I continued while my fingers drew circles over the blanket in a futile attempt to smoothen it.  
”Especially his eyesight must have suffered quite a lot. Doesn’t he seem rather short-sighted?”  
Again no word left Jeremiah’s patient lips, only a short growl.   
Until today it still remains a mystery from which abysmal chasm such distasteful words could have escaped.  
To my own astonishment I leaned closer to my unwell colleague and whispered those abhorrent words:   
“He must be. It seems to me the only believable explanation. How else could he have failed to notice the growing arousal erecting itself between your perspiring thighs, during his last maltreatment of your backside...”  


There was only one reason for my teeth being in their corresponding places once this derogatory remark had left my irrepressible mouth.   
In one swift and, considering his state of health, far too forceful movement Jeremiah had grabbed my collar and let my shoulder collide with the wall in an unpleasant way.   
Fortunately one of the other occupants of this dormitory, in particular Ashdown, entered, thereby preventing Jeremiah from performing all the ghastly things on me I saw lingering in his eyes as he gawped at me furiously.

I ceased this opportunity and ran, hiding in the library somewhere between “Theology Be-Br” until dusk.

 

I skipped supper for the repulsively burning feeling of shame that took possession of my intestines spoiled my appetite completely. Moreover I was afraid of Jeremiah attending it, despite his disastrous state of health.   
Before the return of my colleagues, but after ensuring that Jeremiah was experiencing an unpleasant, but fortunately deep slumber, I dared entering the dormitory again and climbed into my bed noiselessly, without wasting my precious time by undressing myself.   
Once I had reached the safe port of my mattress, I lay there completely immobile to prevent myself from gaining Jeremiah’s attention.   
I was possessed by the paranoid feeling that the softest creak of my mattress would wake him.   
So I stayed patiently, my gaze affixed to the ceiling, my mind in turmoil and bafflement, still unable to comprehend my actions.   
Slowly the dying sunlight no longer sufficing to light up the room, I soon found myself lost in the darkness, constantly tormented by Jeremiah’s uneasy breathing.   
Mea culpa  
Oh, if only the ground beneath me would open up and send me tumbling into hell.   
Mea culpa  
There was a noise.   
I held my breath involuntarily, still undecided whether or not my ears had been playing tricks on me.  
Again the distressful noise cut through the oppressive silence.   
A sob.   
I felt tears forming in my eyes and found no strength to suppress them any longer.   
In the lower bed Jeremiah was crying.   
It was not the annoyed sob of the discontent adolescent, but the hurt cry of a helpless creature.   
Burying my nails into the duvet, I bit my lower lip to prevent myself from crying out loud ashamedly.   
Mea maxima culpa.  
I had hurt him.   
Speaking the words conceived by an aberrant mind, I had not offended him, but wounded his pure and fragile soul.   


My torment ceased, for I escaped the dorm, the moment my fellow students returned.

Distressed, but focused I went straight into Father William’s unoccupied lodging, for he was absent reading mass in the next village like every Tuesday.   
Afraid of gaining someone’s attention, I dared not to illuminate his room in any way. Truly, it would not have been necessary, for I knew this place by heart and therefore avoided every creaking floorboard as I guided my steps confidently to the “forbidden” shelf.   
Only a few trite and secular tomes separated me from the “immoral collection”, a peculiar assortment, collected by the late Father Alfonsio, who was convinced that one needed to become acquainted with malice before being able to defy it.   
So basically a conglomerate containing of confused and debauched theories and thesis brought forward by worshippers of the beast, or accurately speaking, philosophers.   
Once or twice I had already let my mind get distracted by Plato’s or Aristoteles’ manuscripts.

But apparently I knew someone who’s mind had devoted itself to such blaspheme writings throughout.  
I took as many books as I could lay my hands on and made sure to unlock the bottom drawer of Father William’s davenport before leaving, for I knew (and plainly speaking which student didn’t) that this was where he kept his unholy collection: bottles filled with quite intoxicating liquids.   
Due to his incapacity of resisting the fluid seduction, I was pretty confident, that finding his drawer unlocked would keep him occupied for the next few days and divert his attention from the missing books completely, thereby buying me enough time to hide them properly.

 

As expected my absence had not been noticed by any educator and probably been neglected by my fellow dorm mates as well.   
Noiselessly I slid into the room, but hesitated before climbing up.   
In complete utter darkness I randomly selected a tome and placed it under Jeremiah’s bed, thereby depriving it of anyone’s but Jeremiah’s view.  


Exhausted but at least a bit relived I soon felt myself tenderly embraced by Morpheus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got acustomed to my new computer and now my graphics card has melted. *sob*  
> Now I have to write on my twin sister's laptop.   
> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter and feel free to spill your thoughts.


End file.
